Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
by AbsoLarryLutely
Summary: AU where Robert and Cersei have a legitimate son. Joffrey longs to become an all powerful king and his younger brother Willem seems destined to become his shield, his stalwart, his strong right hand. With Joffrey's brutality and the Game of Thrones engulfing the realm in another war the two brothers are destined to collide. Joffrey/Sansa OC/Margaery Joffrey/Margaery OC/Sansa
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This AU story starts just before a Game of Thrones series 1. Basically it's a what if Cersei and Robert's trueborn son didn't die of a fever. I know the TV series stated the boy was the first born but I struggled to write a convincing way Joffrey could be an usurper (he doesn't exactly inspire loyalty in people). It's a re-write of a story I published earlier that drifted into a hiatus due to a number of reasons (exams, Glastonbury, etc.)

This story is rated M and will include strong violence, language and sexual content (it's Game of Thrones after all). Also, word of warning, these first few chapters will focus heavily on the OC as I want to build up his back story.

Ages: Margaery is 16, Joffrey is 15 (in series 1 of GOT he's 16), Willem is 14 and Sansa is 13.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Then Romulus began to understand

the terms of their equality:

'While both can grow as my creation'

'Your creation. How shall that be done?'

'Imagine you are stronger now than I'

So Remus threw his brother to the ground

and each let out a cry of triumph."

- Rodney Hall, Romulus and Remus, 1970.

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

They had gathered on the dockside as the final supplies were loaded onto the galley King Robert's Hammer. He wasn't fond of water, its motion unsettled him and the eight year old silently prayed to the Seven that the weather would be good for his journey to Dragonstone.

Dressed in his finest crimson tunic his mother hugged him so tightly he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Remember I love you," she squeezed even tighter and kissed him on the cheek. He inhaled her familiar scent of lavender oil. Suddenly he lost his sense of adventure, he didn't want to go anymore and his chin began to wobble.

"Stop weeping, woman. You're upsetting him," his father barked.

Willem looked up at his father. The slayer of Rhaegar was paunch, his beard scruffy and he seemed to be sweating profusely under the glare of the sun. His father seemed a completely different man to the Robert Baratheon of tales he'd heard. His eyes drifted beyond his father to his siblings. Joffrey seemed his usual self but Myrcella and Tommen watched him with solemn faces and he was sure he could see Tommen's lips quivering.

"Are you ready, my prince?"

He looked up to see Ser Barristan place a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, ser," he replied.

The famous knight smiled at him. "Brave lad," and the Lord Commander began to escort the prince to the awaiting galley.

"Will I be gone long?" Willem had just realised no one had told him.

"Depends on how long Lord Stannis wants to keep you." Ser Barristan replied.

"Why does he want to keep me?" Willem asked with a frown.

"Because you're the king's son. You need to be shaped to rule."

Willem's frown deepened. "But I don't want to rule."

"As a king or a lord you'll have to rule someday."

* * *

The sun had begun to set in the sky as the rowing boat inched towards the shore of Dragonstone, his day long journey nearly complete. Willem gazed at the fortress and began to understand why people said it was built with stones from the Seven hells. _Is this why I'm here_, he thought. _To become Joffy's Stannis?_

Seagulls hovered overhead, a bracing breeze came off the water and Willem breathed deep, filling his lungs with the Dragonstone air. The salty, fishy air was nothing like the putrid smell that emanated from King's Landing.

The prince shifted his gaze to the stony shore before him, where a small party awaited him. Standing alone a short distance in front of the others was a tall figure.

The boat thudded into the beach and everyone hurried ashore. With a nervous gulp Willem approached the welcome party. He gazed at the tall, balding man that towered over him. "Are you my father's brother?" he asked unsurely. He had met his uncle Renly before but never Stannis.

Stannis blinked, then his blue gaze narrowed and his lips compressed. "Indeed I am. Though your father doesn't treat me as such." Stannis' expression was strained for a moment as he examined his nephew; his eyes lingered on Willem's crimson tunic with a lion combatant and a crowned stag embroidered on it.

The intensity of Stannis' stare frightened the boy so he averted his eyes to the silk banner on a lance, fluttering in the wind, making it appear that the crowned stag was dancing on a field of gold. "Can I hold it?" he asked excitedly.

"You're too young to be a standard bearer." Stannis stated. He turned to one of his companions. "Escort the prince to his chambers," with that said the Lord of Dragonstone departed off to his castle.

Once Stannis was out of sight, a man with a beard peppered with grey handed the lance to Willem. The boy noticed his fingers seemed to be shorter than normal. But with the lance in hand he quickly forgot about that.

Waving the banner in the air Willem laughed with delight as he watched the black stag of House Baratheon dance in the wind.


	2. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This story is rated M and will include strong violence, language and sexual content (it's Game of Thrones after all).

Ages: Margaery is 16, Joffrey is 15 (in season 1 of GOT he is 16), Willem is 14 and Sansa is 13.

Naruhina1519 – Thank you for the review. I would say Willem starts out as Alexander Vlahos (Mordred from Merlin) but as he grows older he becomes more like Henry Cavill's Charles Brandon in The Tudors.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

Margaery Tyrell sat on one of the window seats, her tapestry in her hands – although she paid little attention to the pattern she was working, her mind preoccupied by the upcoming family meeting.

The Tyrell's entertained constantly and were generous patrons. The castle often hosted plays, recitals and concerts and Margaery grew up amongst this setting of musicians, poets and artists. This environment had been built not to attract artists but to consolidate the prestige and influence of the Tyrell name and keep the Reach as the cultural capital of the Seven Kingdoms. A Highgarden ball filled the castle with some of the richest and most powerful men of the realm.

But the Tyrell's understood better than anyone the fortunes fluctuated. People said land conferred wealth, wealth conferred power and power meant access to royal patronage. But Margaery knew that wasn't entirely true. The lands of the Reach made them wealthy, their overflowing treasury made them powerful but their access to court would continue to be denied while Robert Baratheon sat on the iron throne. They needed to plan for the next king and that was the point of the meeting.

Margaery rose from her seat and strode down the long gallery, fussing with the portraits of her ancestors. She smiled as she looked at the painting of Leo Tyrell, a renowned jouster and his similarity to Loras. She continued down the line and paused before the portrait of her grandfather Luthor Tyrell. She knew little about him aside from the fact that he fell off a cliff to his death while out hawking. She carried on, finally stopping at the portrait of Harlen Tyrell, former steward to the Kings of the Reach and first Lord of Highgarden following the War of Conquest. She couldn't help but wonder if he would approve of the plotting to put their family within reach of the iron throne. _Of course he would,_ she decided. _He took advantage of the Field of Fire. _The Tyrell's had put their time in exile from court to good use. They had been pruning their prized roses for years now, going all the way back to Loras being sent to squire for Robert's brother.

Margaery headed out of the door, bumping into her brother.

"I was just coming to get you," he said. "It's about to begin."

The council chamber was surprisingly small considering the wealth of the Tyrell's. Around the table where the siege of Storm's End was planned Mace Tyrell now plotted to join his house with his old adversary.

"I don't understand why we've dismissed Renly's plan so quickly." Loras protested.

Lady Olenna sighed at Loras' comment. She loved her grandson dearly but he failed to grasp the basics of politics, or even the concept of a line of succession.

"We haven't dismissed it, brother. We're simply re-considering our options." Margaery offered diplomatically.

"Say we succeed in marrying Margaery to Robert, then what?" Olenna broke in, not caring about hurt feelings. "Any son produced would be fourth in line to the throne. Unless the gods aid us or we murder the other princes such a marriage would be pointless."

"Has Lord Renly considered how the Lannister's would react to such a proposal?" It was Margaery's turn to point out another flaw in the plan.

"Why are we worried about the Lannister's?" Loras scoffed. "The Reach and the Stormlands is more than a match for them."

Olenna let out a laugh. "I can see it now. You and Renly leading an army for the fourth in line prince against Tywin Lannister, Stannis Baratheon and Eddard Stark supporting Robert's rightful heir." Olenna noticed that Mace had been nodding in agreement with her and Margaery. The fact that her oaf of a son could finally see the stupidity of Renly's plan and Loras couldn't made her fear for the future of House Tyrell. Loras' wife would have to be selected very carefully. _Why can't Loras grasp that the endgame isn't Margaery on the iron throne but her son on it?_

"Maybe Margaery could convince Robert to put their son first?" Loras' argument for Renly's plan was getting desperate.

Olenna stared at Loras. "That maester obviously didn't do his duty in educating you. Targaryen's messed with the line of succession and it often resulted in wars."

"Fine." Loras accepted defeat moodily. "Are we to offer Margaery's hand to the crown prince?"

"Robert will never agree to the match." Olenna began. "It's no secret he favours a union with the Stark's." The Queen of Thorns was certain she heard a snort of derision from her son. She guessed he still hadn't gotten over how the siege of Storm's End finished.

"The Targaryen's are still a threat and it's no secret the realm is in debt. Robert needs my men and my coin." Mace said, bitterness dripping off every word.

"Robert slayed Rhaegar, he won't need your help to kill the Beggar King." Olenna pointed out. "We remained loyal to Aerys, the Stark's did not. You laid siege to Storm's End," she made sure that she established eye contact with her son before continuing. "As you should remember that's where Lord Stark made you dip your banners. In the matters that concern Robert Baratheon House Stark is of more worth than House Tyrell."

An awkward silence descended for a few moments.

"We will make an offer for the crown prince, get rebuffed and settle for the second prince." Olenna began to explain the plan. "If the crown prince is as petty and jealous as Loras claims he'll take an interest in his brother's betrothed. Then it'll be up to Margaery to keep his interest more prolonged."

* * *

The Narrow Sea was pitch black in the dark hour before dawn and the Black Betha gently rose and fell on the waves, not far from Crackelaw Point. Willem stood alone on the foredeck, clutching his black cloak tighter against the chill of the night air. His body was bulked by the padded gambeson he wore beneath his quilted leather jerkin and yet the wind still bit to the bone. One of his eyelids drooped, giving him the look of someone always in deep thought. He was now long used to the motion of ships and so felt no need to hold on to anything as he continued to stare out across the sea. He stood there silently, listening to the rhythmic sound of waves against the hull, but to his mind the years were gone and he was back in King's Landing.

_Joffrey and Willem were riding their ponies while practising at a shortened quintain with lances fashioned for them. Resentful of being the younger of the two princes Willem set out to prove that their age difference was no measure of skill._

"_Eight to me and five to you." Willem proudly declared._

"_Six." Joffrey protested. "I got one on the last run."_

"_It fell off. Doesn't count."_

"_Yes it does."_

"_I'm still winning." Willem scoffed._

"_This is stupid! I'd beat you at swords." Joffrey stated as if fact. "Uncle Jaime says I'm good," he added as if that clinched the matter._

_Willem glared at Joffrey, praise from Ser Jaime was highly sought after by both of them as neither got it from their father. Their mother had told them tales about the Lion of Lannister – how he won his first tourney when he was thirteen, how he was knighted when he was fifteen and how he was the youngest ever knight raised to the Kingsguard. The brothers often sneaked into the White Sword Tower to watch their uncle practice his skills. They would watch in the background and try to emulate him, and if they were really lucky and he was in a good mood he'd give them a lesson._

"_He says I'm good too!" Willem retorted. Although he was defiant he didn't want to fight Joffrey, his overly aggressive style and extra growth made him difficult to fight._

"_He didn't." Joffrey jumped from his pony and drew his wooden sword. "Come on, or are you scared?"_

_Willem promised mother that he wouldn't rise to Joffrey's goading but he always did. He climbed down from his pony and drew his sword._

_Joffrey lunged at him and Willem parried the blow. The younger brother tried to hold his ground but soon had to retreat under Joffrey's relentless attack. Joffrey continued to hammer his little brother mercilessly across the yard. With a flick, more luck than skill, Willem struck Joffrey's hand. The unexpected strike stung Joffrey and he dropped his sword._

_The crown prince lunged for his fallen weapon but Willem got there first, kicked it away and levelled his sword at his brother's head. With a smug grin and a puffed out chest he withdrew his wooden blade and tucked it back into his belt. "I win!"_

"_Remember you'll kneel to me when I'm king." Joffrey snarled._

It had been a long time since he had thought about those days. He couldn't help but wonder if Joffrey was still a sore loser. There was a time, like Tommen did now; he looked up to Joffrey with admiration but soon that transformed into hatred. _As it will for Tommen,_ he thought bitterly. But deep down he knew there was more to his relationship with his older brother than hatred. Sure he despised the spoilt, cruel idiot that ruined his face and got him sent away to some barren island but in truth he also resented Joffrey. Willem learnt quickly that he'd never enjoy the special status as the subject of their mother's unrivalled attention as Joffrey did; that from the moment of birth he was forever destined to be in his shadow. This jealously Willem felt towards his older brother was further fuelled upon the realisation that he seemed destined to become just one more knight in service to his brother. Willem couldn't fully suppress the shudder at the thought of a lifetime spent in service to King Joffrey.

He could start to taste bile in his mouth so decided to push aside family and the past and instead focus on the present and duty. It had been nearly two hours since Ser Davos and some of the crew had taken a rowing boat ashore. Willem had begun to worry, not for his captain as he could look after himself. Dawn wasn't far off and unless Ser Davos returned soon, they would lose their advantage. It dawned on Willem that if the Onion Knight failed to return in time then the burden of command would fall to him and he knew for certain he wasn't ready for it.

Instinctively he glanced in the direction of the Whispers where the pirate galley would be at anchor and hopefully most of its crew would be camped ashore. It was rare for pirates to venture this far north of the Stepstones. Ser Davos had gone out to make sure the pirates had settled down before making their move.

Willem heard movement behind him and turned his head to see Tristifer Waters ascend the steps.

"Any sign of the captain, my lord?" Tristifer asked.

Willem resisted the urge to smile at the question, pleased he wasn't the only one who was nervous about the prospect of battle without Ser Davos there. "Not yet."

"If he leaves it much longer then we'll have to call it off."

Willem glanced over his shoulder at the Sunglass bastard and then back out to sea. "We can't do that."

"Really?" Tristifer sniffed. "Without the element of surprise we risk losing more hands than we can afford."

_Fair point_, Willem mused. As Lord of Dragonstone Stannis was charged with guarding the Narrow Sea. However, the seemingly unending war against piracy and the sparse population of the rocky islands in the Narrow Sea meant it was difficult to replenish their ranks. _But we have our duty._ "And if they attack Claw Isle?"

Tristifer grudgingly accepted that. "What if something has happened?" The bastard of Sweetport Sound looked at the main deck to make sure no one overheard him while he approached the delicate subject. "Someone will have to take command."

"I will take his place, you know that."

Tristifer knew that but it didn't seem to make him feel any better. "But, my lord," he began carefully, not wanting to upset someone of a higher social standing. "The men might prefer to be led by someone who has experience of combat."

Willem would have been the first to admit that Tristifer was vastly more experienced than him. But whatever Tristifer might think, Willem knew he had command, he was of the higher standing of the two. He looked at Tristifer with a clenched jaw. "Be that as it may," he said through gritted teeth before looking back out to sea. "Ser Davos left me in command until he returns."

"If he doesn't?"

Willem glanced at Tristifer again, feeling anger and dismay at being questioned by a bastard. "He will," he said more firmly. "Have the men prepare, we must be ready for his return."

Tristifer hesitated before returning to the main deck.

Willem could hear his orders being relayed and a group of men going below deck to fetch lances, swords, bows and arrows. As the crew struggled into their gambesons and fumbled to string their bows in the darkness Willem began to question his order. Normally the order to prepare would have been given close to actual combat when they would have the benefit of torches but Willem judged it would be better to distract the crew from the fact that their captain had yet to return. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to exercise his authority over Tristifer. _Maybe he's right? The men would prefer someone with experience, _he mused. With dawn approaching it would be reckless to attack a galley. But he knew if they didn't then the pirates could slip away. Willem wished Matthos was on-board to command instead of him.

His ears pricked at the sound of a splash. All his worries about commanding vanished as he strained his eyes searching for the cause of the noise, praying that it wasn't a man overboard or something else equally time consuming. Then he saw it.

The small rowing boat edged closer and relief began to surge through Willem. A short while later the boat gently bumped the hull and Davos climbed over the side as Willem descended to the main deck.

"Is the galley still there, ser?" Tristifer asked.

"She is." Davos announced. "They're sleeping like babes."

"Gods be praised," one of the crew said.

"Indeed." Davos nodded. "Is the ship ready?"

"Aye, ser."

"And the men?"

"Aye, ser."

* * *

Robert was staring of out of the window of his private chambers, the stained glass colouring him in yellows, blues, greens and reds. The walls were decorated with richly detailed hunting tapestries and an oak table with a high chair commanded the centre of the room. Jon Arryn coughed to announce his presence, knowing it would drag his king from memories of days long lost.

"You summoned me, Your Grace."

Robert crossed to the table, picked up the parchment that lay there and thrust it at his Hand. "I'm undecided."

While Jon thought of a way to convince Robert to accept the proposal, to accept an offer that could greatly aid the realm and stabilise it for his heir, Joffrey entered in his riding boots.

"Father," he greeted. "I was about to lead a hunt and wondered. . ."

Jon tuned out Joffrey's latest attempt to impress his father. It always ended the same, with the king laughing and the crown prince belittled. Many said the iron throne broke Robert Baratheon but Jon knew the truth, it was his sons. He knew what it was like to fear for your legacy, his own son was a sickly and whiny child who'd struggle to run the Vale once he was dead.

Lyanna's death devastated Robert and he struggled under the demands of ruling but when Joffrey was born Jon hadn't seen Robert that happy since the Eyrie. But Joffrey turned out to be a disappointment to the king. There were similarities between them. Both had wilful personalities that could dominate a room, an unpredictable temper, acted off impulse and unfortunately the same grasp of politics. But Jon noted that Joffrey seemed to be harder to dissuade than his father and lacked Robert's charisma.

But the biggest difference between them is what hurt Robert the most, Joffrey's cowardliness. The crown prince was exceptional with a crossbow, Jon had seen fewer better shots. But as devastating a weapon as a crossbow is, it was still a coward's weapon fired at a distant enemy from behind a wall.

Jon knew that Willem and Tommen fared no better in the king's eyes. Tommen was a good hearted boy who always tried his best but lacked the strong will that Robert and Joffrey possessed and it was doubtful he'd ever have the aggressive streak required of a warrior. _He's destined to be a maester, _Jon thought. The hand of the king had hoped Willem would be the one to lay Robert's fears to rest. He looked like a proper Baratheon but his desire to be accepted by his mother led him to try and be more Lannister than Baratheon. With much convincing Jon managed to get Robert to agree to Stannis fostering the boy. Jon prayed Stannis could mould Willem into something, the thought of a Westeros ruled by Joffrey with no one but Lannister's to temper him was enough to send a shiver down his spine. Jon Arryn knew Robert won the war because he had him and Ned tempering his boldness and that was what Joffrey needed, he was certain. But as far as Robert was concerned the real Baratheon line would end with him and his brothers. Jon remembered when a drunk Robert told him that at times when he thought of his sons he was sure he could hear the mocking laughter of Ser Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm.

"What do you suggest?" Robert asked, dragging his hand back to the present.

"I believe Lord Tyrell's proposal is worth accepting, Your Grace." Jon answered. "The dowry could be put towards the crown's debts." Jon noticed Joffrey continued to hover in the background, obviously curious.

Robert leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Counting coppers didn't interest him.

"Such a match would counter the influence of Lord Tywin." Jon added, knowing that would peak the king's interest.

The king laughed, amused at angering his wife and good-father. "What does my council say?"

"They are in favour of it."

Robert peeked one eye open. "Even Stannis?"

Jon hesitated.

"I knew it," the king laughed. "But I promised Ned to join our Houses."

Joffrey now stood forgotten in the room. The crown prince was irritated that his future was being spoken of as if he weren't there but he held his tongue. He was too scared to speak out in front of his father.

"You have other sons, Your Grace."

Robert opened both eyes and sat forward. "Would he accept one of the others?"

"Lord Tyrell is desperate to end his exile from court. And with Lord Renly's help we could convince him."

Robert sighed. "Fine. Mace's daughter can marry Will."

Outraged at what he was hearing Joffrey found the courage to interrupt the conversation. He had heard the stories of the Little Rose's beauty and wanted her for himself, or more aptly didn't want his brother to get her. "Father, I am to be king. I should marry Lord Tyrell's daughter." Although his red face showed he was angered Joffrey failed to muster any harshness in his voice before his father.

Robert glared at his heir. "You will do as I say and marry a Stark!" The king rose and began to stride out of his chamber, then stopped and turned to Jon. "Send word to Dragonstone about the arrangement."

* * *

The Black Betha rounded the piece of land that had shielded them from the pirates. The pirate galley was visible as the faintest blue and orange began to light the sky.

"We're too late." Tristifer whispered as he stood beside Willem. "Dawn will be upon us before we reach them."

Willem shared Tristifer's doubts but didn't express them as he secured his open faced burgonet helmet. He trusted Ser Davos' judgement, he had heard of the Onion Knight using this tactic before. They would approach from the west and use the limited light from the sunrise to conceal themselves until it was too late for the enemy.

"Only way they'll miss us is if they're blind," whispered a squire.

Willem ground his teeth and bit back his irritation. Like him the squire was potentially about to experience his first taste of battle and Willem doubted scolding him mere moments prior to fighting would do either of them any good. Instead he glanced down the length of the ship, watching the silent cluster of men ready themselves, all wearing the same grim expression.

Soon no man nor squire spoke, the only noise coming from the creak and splash of the oars.

As they moved within striking distance of the enemy a blast of a horn carried across the water, their sentries had sounded the alarm. Willem felt anxiety wash over him and his gloved hands grasped his lance tighter.

"Battle speed!" Davos' voice carried across the deck.

A drum began to beat out a steady rhythm and the deck lurched as the oars sped up.

Willem could feel his heart thundering in time with the drums and his stomach twist with nerves. He gritted his teeth and spread his feet wide as he grabbed the side rail, knowing what was coming as the Black Betha surged forward.

"Brace yourselves!" went the cry.

There was a loud, shattering crack and a showering of wood as the Black Betha rammed the enemy ship. Cries of terror rose from both crews.

"Grappling hooks!" Davos cried.

Willem scrabbled to his feet, that order meant their attempt to sink the enemy with their ram had failed. With a deep breath he accepted he would have to fight his first battle.


End file.
